


He May Even Dream Again

by voidknight



Category: Kirby (Video Games), Kirby - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Timelines, Ancient History, Backstory, Flashbacks, Fluff and Angst, Gen, Identity Issues, Minor Violence, No Plot/Plotless, Post-Kirby Star Allies, Recovered Memories, Self-Discovery, hehe those are very common in my works huh, lots and lots of headcanons
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-08
Updated: 2019-07-08
Packaged: 2020-06-24 23:40:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,452
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19734007
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/voidknight/pseuds/voidknight
Summary: After a history lecture from Magolor triggers Gooey's memories of his past and his origin, he makes it his task to find out as much as he can—and ends up learning more about his friends, too, in the process.





	He May Even Dream Again

**Author's Note:**

> i'm pretty sure this is the first fic on ao3 that's from gooey's perspective... he really deserves more fanworks about him!
> 
> note: this story, for the most part, follows the timeline seen in star allies’ main story mode—so the events of "heroes in another dimension" haven't happened

You hear Kirby before you see him, his little feet pattering across the grass in that manner that’s so very characteristic of him.

“Gooey!!” he sings, voice high and loud and excited. “Gooey Gooey Gooey!!”

As soon as you turn around, he squeals, crushing you in a hug. His cheek squishes against the top of your head.

“Oh boy! Gooey! I haven’t seen you in so long! I’m so sorry, there’s been all this adventuring to do, but!” He plants a kiss on your forehead. “I haven’t forgotten about you.”

You give him a lopsided grin and lick his cheek. He giggles.

“I wanted to ask you! So… I have this friend called Magolor! You might remember him! He is sooo nice; you would never believe he once tried to kill me!” Delivered with a sweet smile such as Kirby’s, you almost don’t catch the implications of his words, but he quickly elaborates before you can dwell on it. “Um, so, he’s been teaching this history club class thing, and he’s been looking for more recruits! So if you’re interested…”

He pauses. And how could you say no to a face like that?

“History!” you cry. “What kind of history?”

“Ancient history!”

“Ooh. Okay!”

Kirby lets out a whoop of joy, and scampers back down the way he came. You follow suit, bouncing along behind him. Sure, in a couple days (or even a couple hours), you probably won’t remember a single fact from Magolor’s presentation, but hey, spending time with your best friend should be fun anyway. And besides, if something’s really interesting or important, it’ll probably stick with you.

* * *

History Club meets in Magolor’s ship, an impressive vessel with huge oar-like wings and a friendly design. It reminds you of something, though you couldn’t say exactly what. You stop and stare until Kirby gently taps you, gesturing you inside. You jump, and follow.

Magolor is a little egg-shaped fellow in a hood and cloak. (You think you vaguely remember him from the time Kirby assembled all his friends together to fight the invaders, but honestly you hadn’t hung out with many people other than Marx and the animals.) He leaps up when he sees you, floating over to greet you. His friendliness vibe levels are off the charts, and you instantly forget Kirby’s earlier mention of… what was it? Something shady Magolor might’ve done? Never mind. He seems cool enough.

“You must be Gooey!” he exclaims, extending a hand, then laughing as you grasp it with your tongue. “I’ve been dying to meet you properly! Kirby tells me you’re from a land far far away—just like me!”

You nod. You can’t say you really remember where you’re from, but it’s gotta be far away. Or something like that.

“Take a seat!” Magolor gestures to the chairs he’s set up around the bridge, all facing the giant screen in the middle. Coo and Nago wave at you from the front row, and your heart leaps—so many old friends! Rick is snoozing in the back, Ado and Ribbon sitting next to him, and Bandana Dee is sharpening his spear in the second row. You and Kirby take two seats in the middle. It’s a small audience, but it all feels incredibly inviting.

“All right.” Magolor moves back to the front of the room. “We’re waiting on… one more—?”

As soon as he says it, the door rematerializes behind you, and Meta Knight appears, cloak drawn around him. He’s escorting a Dee you’ve never seen before, equipped with a sailor hat, a backpack, and a lunchbox.

“Have a nice time,” murmurs Meta, and the Dee gives him a quick hug, then scurries over to join Bandana on the empty seat next to him. Kirby waves to Meta, who nods back, then departs.

“Awesome!” cries Magolor. He clears his throat, folding his hands in front of him. “First, to catch up our newcomers on what we’ve been discussing—”

“We haven’t really been _discussing,”_ Kirby whispers to you, a sly grin on his face. “Magolor just talks at us for hours. But it’s fun!”

Magolor gives him a Look, then continues as if there’d been no interruption. “We started off with some really big picture stuff. Like, the creation of the universe! Then we talked about the earliest known artifacts, then dove right into the rise of the Ancients. That took two whole lessons! Last week, we did a mini-lecture on Shiver Star. And today…”

He clicks a button on his control panel, and the screen above him buzzes to life, displaying a white slide with a single, blood-red eye. You gasp.

“That’s right! Today we’re going to learn about the Dark Matter!”

“Is this why you brought me?” you whisper to Kirby, who nods excitedly. You have to say you’re getting pretty hyped as well. These are your people! Perhaps, after this lesson, you’ll have more than just scraps of memories to go off of when thinking about the Dark Matter—you know you’ve been around for a while, but anything about their—your—history has faded from your mind.

Magolor switches the slide. The second one depicts a common drone—black with orange fins, and a single piercing eye that gives you goosebumps.

“No one knows how the Dark Matter came about,” Magolor begins. “There are many theories. But, one thing we do know is that they’re as old as, if not older than, the Ancients themselves. There are a couple things I can tell you right off the bat, though. First, their society is like a hive. It consists of a number of drones working for a queen—pardon the gendered language, but it’s the best analogy. Second, they are unspeakably evil!”

He flips to the next slide, in which he’s edited angry cartoon eyebrows onto the drone, and all your hopes vanish in an instant. No, no, that wasn’t the conclusion he was supposed to come to, and especially not in the very beginning of the presentation—not in such a blunt way—! You sink lower into your chair, wishing you could maybe blink out of reality for a second. Or take to the air and fly away on conspicuous orange fins.

Magolor notices your change in expression, and his face grows sympathetic. “I’m sorry, I know this must be a hard topic for some of you! The Dark Matter have attacked countless planets, and no doubt some of you have been victims at one point or another. In fact, a little-known fact is that the scattering of dark hearts across Dreamland last year was actually caused by a Dark Matter cultist! Please, feel free to take a break if it becomes too much.”

No, that’s not it at all! Your eyes sting, but you’re not about to correct him, not now. Kirby lays a concerned paw on your back, but before he can speak up, Magolor launches into the next slide, which seems to be a particularly intricate timeline. He’s saying something about the Ancients, about a war they had with the Dark Matter, about the technology involved, but you’re not listening anymore. It’s silly, really. Of course he would have that opinion. Why shouldn’t everyone on this planet have that opinion! Popstar was invaded, three whole times—but Magolor’s not from Popstar—

“It was a long and bloody war,” Magolor is saying, and his voice sounds distant, as if heard through a pane of glass. “Some say it lasted for centuries! Personally, I think the evidence doesn’t quite point to a war of that magnitude, but it was certainly intense. I’ve found a couple artifacts from this era. The first is a sword, which would have been carried by one of the Ancients’ warriors, crafted specifically to inflict damage upon Dark lifeforms…”

And you can almost feel the blades on your skin, the hot beams that shoot from such a weapon, the only flashes of light in such a dark space, blinking on and off like deadly candles, extinguished one by one as they strike their target—

It’s not until Coo explodes, “For Nova’s sake, Magolor, shut up! You’re upsetting Gooey!” that you realize you’re crying.

Magolor’s face falls, and he stammers out a hasty, “O-oh! Oh dear, I am so sorry, I should have… Kirby, would you…?”

But Kirby’s already pulling you outside. He looks just as upset as you feel, eyebrows set in a kind of determined scowl.

As soon as the doors shut behind you, your friend cries, “That wasn’t fair!”

“Not fair!” you echo—it’s easier to repeat his words than form your own.

“He can’t say that! It’s so mean! And in front of you, too! Does he really think all the Dark Matter are like that?? That’s like saying all Halcandrans are lying thieves!”

“He doesn’t know that I’m…” You let the sentence complete itself.

Kirby plops down on the ground, his anger faded into a simple annoyance. “Yeah. But still! And… and I guess he isn’t wrong… the Dark Matter have done some awful stuff… but saying they all do awful stuff? That isn’t true at all!”

“Not true at all,” you repeat.

“It isn’t black and white! Did you hear what he was saying about the Ancients? They did terrible stuff too! Built huge weapons! That sounds pretty bad to me!”

You nod. “Scary.”

“Yeah.”

“Sorry.”

“Sorry? What for?”

You pass your tongue underneath your eyes, licking away the dried-up tears. Salty. You can’t quite articulate your feelings—you disrupted the meeting, that’s what you’re sorry for. You made Magolor feel bad. But you can’t find the words. So you just shake your head.

Kirby leaps up and pulls you into another hug. Despite his short arms, he’s perfected the art of the tender and cheery embrace. “It’s okay! It’s all going to be okay. Maybe we can go to Magolor afterward and tell him how you feel! And then he’ll understand!”

“Maybe,” you say.

“Do you want to hear more about the history?”

You attempt a sort of shrugging gesture.

“Maybe it’ll be more manageable if we’re prepared to hear all that negative stuff about Dark Matter. So it isn’t a surprise.”

Good point. And you suppose you are kind of curious. “Okay.”

Kirby beams, and waddles back inside. Magolor’s gaze immediately goes to the two of you when you enter, and he visibly relaxes at Kirby’s smile. You give him a crooked grin as well—no hard feelings. His eyes crinkle, and he continues the lesson as you take your seats, beginning to excitedly ramble about something called a clockwork star.

* * *

Your attention span is not exactly the longest, so it’s no surprise when you’re an hour into Magolor’s presentation and suddenly find that you remember absolutely nothing except the very beginning. Not surprising, but still disappointing. You’re sure there was some interesting information in there somewhere! Kirby looked pretty engaged, at least. Maybe he can give you a rundown of what you missed.

Then, Magolor flips to a picture of a winged warrior suspended in a pink crystal, and suddenly you are paying very, very close attention, the meaning of his words almost lost all over again in the sudden surge of emotion that tumbles over you. You have seen that mask before, with its four-pointed star, and those shining eyes. Was he one of the Ancients?

What did Magolor just say? Something about Halcandra again? You catch the end of a sentence that includes the phrase “random portals opening up” before the slide shifts again and your attention shifts with it. What were you just thinking about? The—the warrior. But it’s gone now, leaving you wondering why your heart is pounding and why you suddenly feel a profound sense of longing.

* * *

Then, somehow, the lecture is over, the club’s members are leaving one by one, Meta Knight reappears to pick up Sailor Dee, Coo stops by to give you some sort of message that you forget the moment after you hear it because you’re too focused on Kirby. Kirby, who is beckoning you over towards Magolor.

“Your talk was really interesting!!” he’s saying, and Magolor beams. “Oooh, did you know, I met a clockwork star once! Actually, twice! And then I fought both of them because they turned evil. Well, the first one I just kind of blew up. The second one I fought properly. In a spaceship!”

“Whoa, what??”

“Yeah! It was craaazy. Um, anyway… Gooey had something he wanted to say to you!”

Did you? Oh, right, about your… the reason you were upset. You blink, looking from Kirby to Magolor back to Kirby.

“Yes?” says Magolor.

“Gooey sometimes has trouble saying stuff,” Kirby whispers to him. “Give him a sec!”

He laughs. “I feel that.”

Given just how much he’s talked today, you really doubt it, but you don’t say that. No, right, you’re supposed to be thinking of… of ways to explain that you’re Dark Matter? Do you even want to do that? You’ve decided you like Magolor—despite his biased opinions, he seems like friend material—but does he really deserve to know that about you? Especially after he’s given this big whole speech about the Dark Matter and all they’ve done?

Unable to decide, you parrot Kirby instead. “Your talk was really interesting!”

“Thank you!!” cries Magolor, while Kirby looks on, slightly confused. “I’m so glad you were able to enjoy it, even though it was upsetting at the beginning. These are hard topics!”

“Hard topics,” you agree. You lock eyes with Kirby and say, very deliberately, “I think we’ll go home now.”

“Okay! Bye! I hope you’ll come to History Club again!”

Magolor smiles and waves as the two of you leave. Once outside, Kirby turns to you, questioning.

“Why didn’t you tell him?”

“Didn’t want to.”

“Why not?”

“He already finished talking. Wouldn’t matter.”

“But maybe it could have changed his opinion about Dark Matter! Maybe it would change his talks in the future and stuff!”

You just shake your head. Kirby sighs.

“Gooey… I don’t want you to do anything you don’t want to! But, um. I have to say… not to sound rude to Magolor or anything! He is my very good friend! But he, kind of, uh, I think he _thinks_ he knows more about Dark Matter than he really does.”

You wouldn’t know; you weren’t listening closely enough. Kirby pauses, as if to give you space to respond, then continues.

“You should talk to him more! I think you could tell him lots of really interesting stuff!”

“Maybe,” is all you say.

* * *

The sun is beginning to set, and Kirby decides you shouldn’t be wandering around at night—despite the fact that you both know that both of you have done that very thing many times before—so you decide to have an impromptu sleepover at Kirby’s. He makes you a little nest of pillows at the foot of his bed, and even produces an extra nightcap for you.

“If you need a midnight snack, there’s food in the cupboard,” he tells you, and you don’t doubt it at all. Kirby’s house without food is an unthinkable notion.

Kirby dozes off pretty quickly, but you lie awake, peeking through the window at the stars outside. The room is dark, but—as your tired mind follows spiralling tangents, just barely distinguishable from dreams—is it really? You have known true darkness. Here, you can just make out the outline of your sleeping friend, of the bed, of the walls, of the door. In true darkness, everything becomes one. There is no distinction between friend, bed, walls, door. No distinction between you and the next person. Nothing in between but the darkness that fills you and sustains you and surrounds you.

* * *

You don’t remember the exact moment you came into being, maybe not so much because of your extraordinarily poor memory, but rather the fact that you’re not sure you could pinpoint an exact moment when you became an entity separate from your neighbors. You felt a great many things—cold, you think, was one: not an uncomfortable cold, but simply a temperature outside your body that was clearly different from the one within you. And pain. Not a pain inflicted upon you, but upon your siblings—and you could feel everything they felt, see through their multitudes of eyes even while you were still developing yours.

The sameness was comforting, not oppressive. Even when your body became fully your own, when you first opened your singular eye and took in the layers of swirling pitch-black around you, sometimes streaked with colors that would soon become familiar—you were still something of a drone, weren’t you. A tiny sphere with an eye and a set of circular fins. At, least, so you thought. And you were safe. Because you were exactly like everyone else.

You’re not sure _how_ you were created, precisely. You have never had a reason to learn how Dark Matter reproduce. They have no sex or gender; the only reason you go by “he” is because that’s what Kirby called you one day, and it stuck. You never had a name before Kirby, either. Or perhaps you did—but likely it was just a number in a long list that began with zero.

* * *

But you aren’t another drone, are you? You have a Purpose. It is never directly communicated to you. It was woven into the very fabric of your being when they created you, in a language you cannot read.

* * *

Magolor’s slide shows a figure shaped like a twenty-sided die, a round, red eye on every face, their form as white as Zero. This is no ordinary Dark Matter being.

“The origin of these elemental shapeshifters seems to date back to the war,” he says. “Kirby—you’ve met this one, haven’t you? What can you tell us about them?”

“Oh!” cries your friend beside you. “That’s Miracle Matter! They can change into all sorts of super weird things! And then those forms can only be hurt using the right copy ability…”

And even though you aren’t quite listening, the image kindles something within you, a similar feeling of grief to that which settled in after you and Kirby took down Zero. It was necessary, of course. You both know that all too well. But there is something disheartening about turning against your own people, no matter the cause. Just as there is something disheartening about finally encountering a being just like you—a shapeshifter, whose powers are more potent than your own—only to then see it destroyed.

* * *

The creepy hooded man talks his head off, spews nonsense about a Dark Lord and ancient history and revenge, but you aren’t listening because the space has you enraptured. And terrified. From the eye-shaped decorations to the strange architecture to the purple heart in the center of it all—the heart of a clockwork star, ripped apart and stitched back together and imbued with an energy it was never meant to contain. You can feel the darkness seeping from it, and for a second it almost seems to call out to you, on the same wavelength as the thoughts you received from your peers before you became your own person. But it’s been too long for you to tell what it’s saying.

The dying man throws himself into the heart, and it explodes, warping, writhing, threatening to tear spacetime at the seams with its potent magic. Suddenly everything is falling apart, and you are powerless to stop it, so you blindly follow Kirby out of the crumbling building, out of space, out of reality.

The darkness shapes itself into a giant, a form that something deep within you recognizes—from a legend, perhaps, runes scribbled in a book somewhere, an image planted in your mind by your Dark Matter neighbors. It doesn’t really matter where you know it from, you suppose. It’s just another big, scary monster that you must defeat. So you charge up your energy and help your friends cast it towards the glowing eyes of the colossus.

You plunge into its very core and rip open its heart and emerge to find it transformed once more, into a winged creature, feathers white and red and much too familiar, its enormous weapons eliciting gasps from your friends. And the fight rages on. You can no longer remember how long you’ve been here or where you started. The buzzing in your head seems almost normal by now.

But when the pilot shows himself, in all his pink, shining, swirling glory, and when he opens up his humongous eyes and gives you the sweetest smile you have ever seen—that is when you become truly afraid. Because you are not fighting a faceless enemy the size of a mountain. This is one of your own. He even looks like you and Kirby—a sphere with two eyes and a wide mouth. And he can see you. He knows who you are.

For a moment, you match the curious gaze of Void Termina, and you almost feel as if you have encountered a displaced sibling. Could you communicate? Would he even understand if you tried? Does he _really_ know who you are?

Then he opens his mouth to reveal the telltale eyeball of Dark Matter beings, charging up a beam of pure energy, and your hopes vanish.

* * *

When you wake up, the sky is light, and the color of morning. It’s been a couple hours since sunrise, and Kirby is nowhere to be found—you’re not surprised. A basket of small fish is waiting for you beside the bed, and your heart warms—he always knows exactly what you like. You gulp down the fish, and plop onto the floor.

It takes an hour or so of wandering aimlessly—saying hello to all Kirby’s neighbors, watching Coo help out Pitch, who’s got his wings ensnared in a particularly tangly bush—for your dreams to come back to you. Usually they don’t at all. But today, there’s something about the memory that won’t go away.

You wish good luck to Coo and Pitch, and make a beeline for the Lor Starcutter.

* * *

“Gooey!” cries Magolor as you enter, swivelling around and hastily shutting off the humongous screen in front of him. (You think he was watching cat videos.) “How lovely to see you again! How are you?”

“You too!” you chirp, then realize a bit too late that that wasn't quite the correct response, but Magolor giggles happily so you figure you must've done something right.

“I'm so glad you were able to enjoy the lect—club meeting yesterday,” he continues. “Again, I’m so sorry for upsetting you! But at least you had fun, right?”

You nod, thinking very carefully about what you're going to say next. Magolor, quite frankly, is kind of hopeless at reading you, so you figure it'll take some more work to make yourself understood.

“I want to know more,” is what you end up saying. Ironic, given how Kirby asserts that Magolor is less knowledgeable about your own species than you are.

Magolor’s eyes widen in surprise and delight. “You do!! Oh boy, what about?”

“I remembered some things,” you say, unhelpfully.

“Some things about…?”

“Dark Matter.”

“You've met one??”

This would be the perfect time to tell him you _are_ one, but something tells you to hold off on that. Not now.

“Void,” you say, the most recent example that comes to mind. Magolor’s brow furrows.

“Void?”

“Termina!”

“I… I’m afraid I don't know what that means, Gooey!”

That's right—he wasn't in Kirby’s party when you fought him. But what about when Kirby conjured all of his friends and sent them catapulting towards the angry blob, cracking him open like an egg? Maybe those were just projections. By now, everyone knows about Jambandra and maybe even about the cultists, but inner knowledge of the true threat is mostly limited to those of you who actually fought him. And Magolor, obviously, was not there.

“Darkness,” you try instead.

He chuckles. “Well, the Dark Matter are certainly very dark!”

You fail to remember the name of the pocket dimension in which most Dark Matter live, and just end up frustrating yourself. If only you were better at explaining yourself. But words slip through your brain like slimy fish in a bucket, unable to be properly caught.

Something of your struggle must show on your face, because Magolor leans a little closer, expression kind. “It’s okay if you don’t know how to explain it, Gooey. I’m flattered you came all this way regardless!”

“No, no…” You have to put it into words. If you don’t tell anyone it isn’t real. The memories are already fading—vague images are the strongest thing you have. “That dark place. Where they live. I remember. It was cold.”

Magolor blinks, and suddenly seems to comprehend what you’re trying to say. “You’ve been to the Hyper Zone??”

“Hyper Zone!!” you shout, delighted that he’s supplied you with the correct term.

“I can’t believe it,” he muses. “Oh—oh no, you must’ve gone with Kirby, right? He told me a little about that whole adventure yesterday—”

“Yeah,” you say, too quickly. It’s not a lie. It’s just not the particular memory you were thinking of.

* * *

Eventually your greater Purpose leads you outside. Outside, in what some may call the real world, the regular dimension, a place that is not the Hyper Zone, where light works strangely, and the pinpricks of the omnipresent stars hurt your newly developed eye. With your neighbors, you move as one, with a superior silently signaling direction.

You marvel at the space around you, how it is neither purely black nor filled with blobs of saturated color. Somehow, you are still able to blend into the background, sleek and soundless. By contrast, the enemy is loud and vibrant and chaotic—not the chaos of the Hyper Zone’s throbbing primary colors, but something different, something more organic, you might say.

* * *

A list of things-you-might-remember includes the following:

  1. The glint of starlight and laser beams on metal. Gleaming armor in colors you didn’t know existed.
  2. Technological marvels for which you have no name, even now. Designs lost to the depths of time. Machines the size of moons.
  3. There is no sound in space, but on the planets where you fight, there certainly is. You grow ears—or at least some sort of auditory receptors—to better attune yourself to the environment. It hurts you. Every noise is a scraping blade across the surface of your brain. The sounds translate themselves into textures and motions and colors so that you can learn to comprehend them.
  4. There is blood inside of you. It is dark and red and it keeps coming and coming unless it is staunched. Your skin is thick, but in a war it is difficult to keep it from breaking.
  5. You never wonder what you are fighting for.
  6. The enemies’ shouts and overheard whispers lodge themselves in your mind and will not leave until you have constructed a rudimentary sketch of their language, aided by data from your fellow Dark Matter. This proves useful, though you can’t remember in what ways.
  7. One of their leaders has the most dazzling lavender-colored wings, and he shines with an unbridled energy that you can’t help but fear.



* * *

You find Kirby fishing in a pond near his house, humming to himself as he studies the water below. He glances over, and beckons you to come sit next to him. He doesn’t seem to have caught any fish yet, but he’s got a basket full of apples sitting next to him, and you help yourself to one of them. Kirby giggles, and doesn’t stop you from taking another as soon as you’ve gulped down the first.

Right. Right, you had something to ask him. Something important.

“Kirby?”

“Mmm?”

You start to speak, then stop abruptly, thinking.

“How do I,” you begin, slowly, “how do I… find out more things?”

“About the Dark Matter?”

“Yeah.” You grin at how easily he was able to tell what you were thinking of. The subject’s been on both of your minds recently, after all.

“Ask Magolor?”

“You said Magolor doesn’t know!”

He laughs, popping an apple into his own mouth. “Well… okay, yeah. I guess it depends on what you want to know!”

“I want to know about me.”

“I think you’re the only one who knows stuff about you, Gooey!” He reaches over and rubs the top of your head affectionately. “Even I don’t know what goes on in that brain of yours!”

He knows more than he realizes. But still, that isn’t quite what you’re going for.

“No, I think there’s something important, and it’s about… about how things connect to each other. Things we’re forgetting. We’ve all forgotten.”

“What sorts of things?”

“I don’t know.” You sigh, let your gaze travel over the still water of the pond. “Maybe about our purpose?”

“Purpose!” Kirby chortles. “That’s so… big! Deep!”

“What do you think your purpose is?”

“To vanquish evil throughout the galaxy!!” he cries, punching the air. You get the feeling that he’s quoting something Meta Knight told him.

“No, I… not like that.”

“I, uh, don’t think I get what you’re trying to ask me, Gooey.”

You don’t think you really know either. That’s not uncommon. Instead, you switch to a more specific line of questioning.

“What is Void?” you ask after a significant pause.

Kirby drops his fishing pole.

“What?”

“Void? Void Termina?”

He blinks, looking not so much utterly lost but rather astonished. “How do you know about him??”

“We fought him!”

_“You_ didn’t!”

“I did! You were there too!”

But Kirby’s just shaking his head, utterly nonplussed. “No, I went to the little temple thing with Dedede and Meta and Bandee and we kicked the butt of the crazy priest guy and then—well, lots of stuff happened, but I would have _definitely_ remembered if you were there.”

You shake your head. No, no, you remember this very clearly! Okay, maybe less clearly than you did last night, but it’s still up there on your Top 100 List of Things That Absolutely Happened, and he can’t take that away from you—

“Maybe you’re misremembering again?” suggests Kirby, with a sweet tone that tells you he’s _trying_ to be helpful, but it just makes your stomach tighten.

“No!”

“Um… maybe I told you about it at some point and you’re thinking of that? But I don’t think I ever did that…”

“Maybe _you’re_ the one who’s wrong!!” you yell, much too loudly.

Your friend’s face falls, and you instantly regret it. “I… maybe. I don’t know. I’m sorry.”

“I’m sorry,” you echo, because it’s really you who should be apologizing for your outburst.

“Maybe it’s one of those weird time things?” Kirby suggests after a second.

You blink, confused. He continues.

“Um, Meta told me about it once. Sometimes you remember things that didn’t really happen. Or, they did, just… not in this universe? Timeline? Ugh, it’s so confusing. Whatever. I bet there’s some way to explain it where we’re both right!”

The omnipresent cheery smile returns to his face. Maybe he’s right! It’s a hopeful thought. Okay, now that you’ve got _that_ cleared up, you can return to your question. “But who is Void?”

“Oh!” Kirby blinks. “He’s, uh. He’s an ancient being who likes to destroy stuff!”

“From where?”

“I dunno.” Suddenly he grins, and leans close to you as if sharing a secret. “But I heard somewhere that he isn’t _actually_ as bad as he seems! He’s just cranky because he got filled with all that bad energy…”

“Oh,” you say. This is news to you.

“Maybe one day I’ll meet him again,” continues Kirby with a wistful smile. “I already fought him twice… but next time… he will be my friend! I’m sure of it!”

“Two Dark Matter friends!”

“Two Dark Matter friends,” he agrees, giving you a little pat.

* * *

The air is hot with the sweat of your opponents; their cries and groans, the slashing of blades, the thunder of footsteps, and the screams of lasers through the air all mix together into one hellish amalgamation of a soundscape. You’re small and quick, and you dodge fast, careening through the trees of the forest and then the broken spires of what you think used to be a city. There’s a _crack_ behind you, a discharge of electricity, trees toppling, and you don’t look back. Don’t think about the voices in your mind that you can no longer hear. A couple hundred extinguished in a second.

If you had a mouth, or vocal cords, you think you would scream, but that would do nothing but fill your ears with more painful noise.

You don’t stop until you’re far away from the battle, taking it in from the vantage point of a nook in the ruins of a building. Its outer shell is chipped, exposing a sort of rock, wires and stuffing spilling from the deeper wounds. Other structures around you have their faces torn off, leaving gaping holes with only the outlines of walls and floors within. Are these places where people once lived or worked? They seem so cramped compared to the vastness of the Hyper Zone. Too much texture, you think, shifting around uncomfortably as the gravel beneath you rubs against your skin.

Something streaks through the sky, and you think it’s a bolt of lightning at first, or a jagged laser, but as it snaps open its wings and begins to hover, you can see it’s a living being—round, shockingly pink, shining like a star, the glow all around him glinting off his mask and armor. Instantly he’s flocked by three of your siblings, but he lunges before they can strike, his lance impaling one. You cringe, inching deeper into your hole, forcing your gaze downward. You should help, but—but—for the first time, you’re realizing just how much you don’t want to be here.

Another explosion, this time behind you, and it shakes the building, throwing you forward. A shard of glass lodges itself in your side, and you seize up with pain, something within you writhing, twisting your insides into new patterns.

The world turns upside down and you feel yourself falling in slow motion, ground and rubble and trees above, overcast sky and burning building and winged warrior below. He can see you now, your small, dark form, see you struggling to push out your flying fins, to no avail. And, almost against your will, your shapeshifter genes kick in and crack open your face to form a kind of rudimentary mouth and throat, and you let out an unearthly shriek.

Something changes in his eyes. Emotions you have no words for. Your one eye meets his two.

Then he folds his wings and dives. You scream again, and if you had limbs you would be kicking and flailing, but then a strong fist closes around your half-formed fin. He drags you down with him, and the sky closes up behind you with branches as you enter the forest. Your captor flies in a wide arc, avoiding the city, away from the battle and its chilling cries.

The warrior drops you by the bank of what you would later learn is called a _river._ Green and brown surround you, forming intricate patterns too detailed to be real. You open your mouth, but before any sound can come out, a rough hand covers it, and another pushes you onto your side, searching for your wound. He plucks the glass from your exposed side and tosses it into the water. You gasp with newly created lungs, then choke on the sensation of having a tongue. It’s horrible; why did you do this to yourself? How can non-Dark Matter beings stand it?

“Quiet,” he murmurs, ripping a slice of bark off a nearby tree and pressing it to the hole in your side. It’s smooth and soothing, and you find yourself almost beginning to relax.

_“Waii-udd,”_ you echo, feeling how the words sound in your mouth, how they echo through your entire body with strange new vibrations.

He pauses. “You can talk, then?”

_“Taa-gen?”_

“Never heard of a Dark Matter who could imitate speech.”

_“Mmmidei beesh.”_

“Or…” He traces a finger across your side, then removes the bark, throwing it away. “Who could feel pain.”

_“Eela bein?”_

He chuckles. “I must admit, your attempts are endearing. Do you have a name, creature?”

You register the question as such, but don’t understand it well enough to answer.

“Of course not.” His voice grows cold. “Of course you wouldn’t.”

* * *

“Gooey?”

Your eyes snap open to the darkness of Kirby’s room. Did you agree to another sleepover tonight? You suppose you must’ve. Moonlight shines through the window, illuminating a stripe of Kirby’s cheek as he sits up, a little patch of pink in a sea of blacks and greys. His voice is quiet and uneasy.

You peek up at him to show that you’re listening.

“Come over here?”

You hop onto the bed and scooch towards him. Kirby leans against you, placing his paw on top of your head. His eyes are wide, distant, his mouth a tiny O-shape.

“I just had the weirdest dream, Gooey,” he whispers.

“What?”

“Ohhh, I don’t know, it was…” He blinks a couple times, rubs his eyes with his free arm. “Very dark. And scary… I think there were lots of people fighting me??” He shivers. “Ughh, maybe the Fountain of Dreams is acting up again. Have you had any bad dreams?”

“Don’t remember,” you say. At least, not well enough to describe.

Kirby sighs. “And I keep having them, too! Like… every few weeks. Or months? Something like that. Hmm, maybe I should go take a look at the Fountain… get someone to hold onto the Star Rod if something bad’s going on again…” He stares out the window, then back at you, and quickly realizes you have no idea what he’s talking about. “Aw, Gooey. I’m sorry I woke you up!”

“It’s okay!”

“It’s just that… usually my dreams are really good! Stuff like… going on adventures with my friends, eating lots and lots of good food, and—ooh!!” His eyes sparkle in delight. “A few days ago, I had a _great_ dream, where me and Daroach, you know what we did? We stole all of King Dedede’s hats! So he had to walk around everywhere bald!!”

Kirby dissolves into a fit of giggles, and you laugh along with him until he suddenly stops, thinking.

“Ugh! Do you think I’ll forget about the bad dream if I go back to sleep, Gooey?”

“Maybe?” You always do.

“It was just so weiiiird!! You know Galacta Knight?”

You shake your head.

“Um, he’s like the greatest warrior in the galaxy or something. I fought him a few times. He’s sometimes trapped in this big crystal thing? But I was fighting him, and some other people, and then… he trapped _me_ in a crystal thing? And I was super angry! So I tried to get out, but I just kept getting so so so tired, like… I don’t know. And I couldn’t move… and then everything went black… it was so scary, Gooey…”

He flops back onto the pillow, pulling his nightcap down over his eyes. You can think of nothing to do than to give him a comforting lick, which makes him smile. Funny, that he can be so courageous and confident in battle, yet a nightmare has him actually _scared._ Fear doesn’t come easily to you either, but that’s just because you rarely understand the true scope of everything that’s going on. Perhaps Kirby’s the same way.

“You can stay up here, if you like,” says Kirby suddenly. He hasn’t removed his arm from around you, and you’re glad for it—it’s soft and comfy and it makes you feel safe.

“Okay,” you chirp, and nestle in under the covers. Maybe your friend thinks you’ll help him sleep better. Or maybe he just needs a hug.

* * *

The pink warrior doesn’t speak for a long time, just paces around the grove. Sometimes it appears like he’s about to fly off, abandon you to join the fray again, but every time he raises his wings and leaps into the sky, he always circles back, curiosity getting the better of him. Or perhaps a desire to study the nature of the enemy up-close.

You don’t notice him, for the most part, mainly because you’re trying to make sense of your new mouth and all the strange feelings that come along with it. Breathing is something you can do now. Not something you have to do, but after a little practice it almost becomes second nature. And then, of course, there’s your tongue. Taste is a new sense for you too—but unlike hearing, it’s exciting rather than overwhelming. Dirt, you find, is not very tasty. Moss is. Leaves are, sometimes. You stretch your tongue as far as it will go and then some, licking up the water in the river. The sensation is weird but fun, and you giggle, a sound that makes your warrior companion jump in alarm.

“How did you make your tongue so long?” he asks after a second, cautious.

You look down at it. It’s like a long, pink noodle. You pull it all back into your mouth, and blink at him.

He comes a bit closer. “Fascinating. The ability to change form seems to be something that all Dark Matter possess, though some tend to use it more frequently than others.” His eyes narrow, though whether it’s in thought or in scrutiny you can’t tell. “Is it to copy us? To analyze our abilities and our weaponry and use them against us?”

You, of course, don’t respond. Even if you could say anything, you have no answers to his questions. Nevertheless, his gaze is intense, and it feels as if he wants something from you. Confused, you latch onto the word _copy._ Could you copy him? Is that what he wants you to do? How would you even do that?

You concentrate very hard, scrunch up your eye, and split it cleanly down the middle, a kind of strange mitosis that leaves you with two smaller, simpler eyes rather than one large one. Whoa, suddenly the world is a whole lot more three-dimensional. Your companion jumps back, lance at the ready, but you’re too busy watching your vision swim before you to notice. Eventually it clears up, but you can’t _quite_ get the hang of moving two pupils at once. You guess you’ll let them do their own thing for now.

“Copy!” you crow, though it sounds a bit more like _gobby!_ given your imprecise pronunciation. Understanding dawns on the knight’s face.

“You seem awfully young to be involved in such a war,” he muses once his shock at your transformation has worn off. “Although I am no expert on the ways in which the Dark Matter conceptualize age. Is the same true for your companions? Child soldiers?”

You make a couple noises that don’t amount to any sort of speech. They just sound cool.

“I suppose it is useless looking to you for answers of this magnitude.”

You blow a raspberry and giggle at the sensation it leaves on your lips. The warrior sighs.

“In that case, I will be going. A pleasure to meet you.”

He bows his head, allowing you one more second to view him up close in all his glory, then shoots upwards, pushing past the layers of leaves and thick branches as if they’re nothing. Then he’s just a bright speck in the smoke-filled sky.

* * *

Today, you wake up before Kirby does, when the sun is still touching the line of the horizon. Cool air blows in from the window. Kirby is still snuggled up next to you, drooling all over your forehead. You carefully remove yourself from his embrace and lick away his saliva trail, then shuffle off the bed and root around in the cupboard for a snack. There’s an idea taking shape in your mind, and it wouldn’t be wise to set out on the journey before you without a proper breakfast.

Luckily, you’re able to finish up and exit the house without waking your friend. Now comes the hard part—getting to your destination without a map. Orange Ocean should be pretty recognizable, shouldn’t it? Just gotta head towards the shore, right?

You end up getting fairly lost and/or distracted, and it’s not until you find yourself in Sand Canyon (finally, a place you sort of recognize!) that you realize you might be going the wrong way. You double back, but the sun has risen high in the sky before you see the Halberd, docked at a beach near what you think is the Secret Sea. Finally!

After clambering down the rocks and approaching what appears to be the entrance, you're stopped by a guard whose name you don't know, demanding to know what your business is.

“Talk to Meta Knight?” you request.

The guard narrows his eyes, says “I’ll see if he’s free,” and disappears into the ship. It takes all your concentration not to wander off in the minutes it takes for the guard to go and come back, then finally let you in.

The ship is fairly sprawling, with many forked corridors and rows of elevators, but your guide takes you to what you think is its very heart. It looks a little like a large office space crossed with the bridge of a starship, with screens as big as windows dotting the walls, and rows upon rows of buttons. You don’t _think_ this is the main room from which they control the ship’s movement, but it certainly looks important. Your eyes flick about before finally resting on Meta Knight, alone in the center of it all, staring at a screen whose readings you can make no sense of.

“Gooey,” he says without turning around. “Greetings. What can I do for you?”

The guard behind you exits, but it’s not until you hear the sound of the door shutting that you really realize he’s gone. Now you and Meta are the only ones in the room. Even though you know he’s a friend (and he’s barely much bigger than you are), you can’t help but feel a little scared of him. He knows how to hold himself in a way that’s mysterious and fairly frightening. Or maybe it’s the fact that his mask stirs a memory in you, a memory of winged warriors falling from the sky.

“Hi,” you whisper.

He turns, studies you with a look that you’d hesitate to call _friendly,_ but it certainly isn’t mean-spirited. “Hello.”

“Um.” You’ve barely spoken with Meta Knight before, so you’ve got some concerns about how well he’ll be able to understand you. But he seems like a very observant person. Maybe you’ll be able to get across all your thoughts. “I was thinking. And I thought you may be able to answer? Uh, know things about, about… o-other things.”

Meta just looks at you. Oh boy, that was not a good start at all. But then he responds, “What questions do you have that you think I might be able to answer?”

Okay! Okay, he got that much. “About Kirby?”

Meta Knight’s eyes crease into what you think might be a smile. “Kirby? Kirby can be something of a mysterious being.”

“You're his species, yeah?”

“Apparently. Though he does possess many abilities that I don't.”

“Copy!!” you yell, delighted that he's segued so well into your more specific interest.

“Yes, he can copy enemies’ abilities. As can you, I hear.”

“Yeah!”

“Interesting. You seem to be the only ones, then. Apart from, of course, other versions or incarnations of Kirby.”

“Why?”

“Why can he copy abilities?”

“Yeah.”

He sighs. “Don't we all want to know that. It's unclear. I have lived long enough to have met various other members of our species, but never any quite like Kirby. I suppose that's what drew me to him.”

“None like Kirby,” you ponder.

“You have to understand something about copy abilities, Gooey. It is not the abilities themselves that are so unique. A Poppy Bro has Bomb, a Chilly has Ice, a Birdon has Wing, and so on and so forth, even without Kirby there to copy them. You could even say that I have Sword. Copy essences, as well, have been around since ancient times, when they first began to experiment with the elements. But the ability to switch between abilities—or even to have multiple at once—is a very strange trait that I have only seen, or rather heard about, in a couple scenarios. Are you following me so far?”

You nod eagerly. You've never heard Meta Knight talk this much before; you suppose he really knows what he's talking about.

“Miracle Matter, for one, could switch between many abilities, even without the need for copy essences. Dark Nebula could harness the three essential elements—Fire, Ice, Spark. Magolor, when he was possessed by the Master Crown, was able to use Super Abilities. Do you see where I am going with this?”

The room is suddenly very silent. You blink, eyes darting around before resting once more on Meta Knight, more or less.

“Legend says that Kirby once inhaled a Waddle Doo, and it catalyzed his inherent ability to copy. King Dedede taught himself to inhale, but was never able to copy. As far as I can tell, I cannot copy either, only receive elements to enhance my weaponry. I cannot stress how unique this ability is, Gooey. It is not something inherent to our species, but somehow, it is to Kirby.”

There's something here, something beneath the surface, but you're juggling too many different ideas in your brain right now to be able to pry it out. You don't even remember why you came here, but this is important. Somehow.

“Copy abilities are a strange world,” says Meta Knight after a pause. “One could argue they are the result of something ancient and arcane. But Kirby is young—he would hardly know of such matters. Or care, for better or for worse. I don't know if I was able to answer your question in a satisfactory way. Perhaps not. But at the very least you have gotten my mind turning in a way that it hasn't in a very long time. Thank you for coming to see me, Gooey.”

You nod, and give him a wide smile that you hope conveys your gratitude. Evidently it does, because Meta bows his head in response. You feel like there's much more to say—more to ask, more Meta might know about the past, even about your past—but not today. For now, this is enough.

* * *

Your memory spirals, twines and untwines, destroys and recreates itself in showers of sparks. You’ve never had any reason to live in any time but the present, but there’s still a part of you that wants to know the answers to life, the universe, and everything. Isn’t that why you joined Kirby on his quest to bring down the Mage Generals and their corrupt master? To get another taste of something greater than yourself? And maybe even with the hope that you’d discover something about yourself—and your origin—along the way?

It’s all just flickers now, centuries of past reduced to little moving pictures in your mind’s eye. Despite your physical age, for a Dark Matter being, you’re still a child. How long ago did the Ancients live, again? Was it a matter of mere hundreds of years? Thousands, even? You’re no archaeologist, not like Magolor. Besides, time lost its meaning for you long ago. For all you know, your defeat of Zero alongside Kirby could have been millennia ago as well.

Have you dreamt recently? How many of your dreams have been memories? Could you even tell the difference between the two?

* * *

You remember Kirby rushing out to greet the Mage Sisters as they tow a recently-restored Hyness out of their ship, his wide-eyed stare seeming a little less manic, his motions less sharp and crooked. Kirby smiles, laughs along with the sisters, even lets Zan pat him on the head. Since when are they allies? You last saw them at the heart of Void Termina, tangled in his sinews. Or did you?

No, no, this is another timeline you’re remembering, the result of a what-if scenario, events that haven’t happened. Haven’t happened… yet? It’s hard to separate the _did happen_ from the _will happen, would happen, would have happened._

But as Kirby chats with the generals, and a couple of his other friends start to tentatively join him in that, Hyness only has eyes for you. His gaze is a lot gentler than you remember, but it still makes you anxious, and you shrink back, recalling his crazed shouts and threats, the way he tossed around his companions like rag dolls.

“You,” whispers Hyness, separating himself from Francisca’s grasp and floating over to hover just feet away from you. He bends down a little, but he’s still taller than you, and you inch away. “You… another Dark Matter… how can it be…? All your masters are gone… your Dark Lord defeated… who do you serve now?”

You shake your head fervently, as if that’ll get him to leave you alone. Instead, he reaches out a sleeve, almost like he wants to touch you. But before he can do anything, Flamberge’s hand shoots out, grabs the back of his hood, and tugs him back over to where the sisters are standing. You let out a sigh of relief.

“I know what you are!!” Hyness shrieks after you, but falls silent when Flamberge hisses “Shut up!!” straight into his ear. No one else seems to have noticed the encounter—just Hyness being weird again, as usual.

* * *

You are no longer the same as everyone else, but that’s to be expected, given how much contact all of you have had with alien planets, and with those who are not Dark Matter. Many of your siblings now bear battle scars, or perhaps new forms or mutations that they’ve adopted for one reason or another. Some have changed the color of their fins—the orange is too conspicuous against a dark sky—or forgone them altogether. Still, you are the only one with two eyes. It’s not all that unusual—perhaps it could help with infiltrating the bases of your enemies, or something like that, since you no longer have the signature cycloptic look of a Dark Matter being. Whatever the case, it isn’t like anyone will judge you. Deviation from the norm is acceptable when it ultimately contributes to the purpose set down for you by Zero.

Dark Matter don’t _talk,_ exactly. Most have no mouths. If one does have a mouth, it is likely only a sneaky method of concealing their gigantic eyeball. But that isn’t to say you don’t communicate when the need arises. Or sometimes—when there’s a moment of quiet, a moment when you have no orders to follow—simply because you want to.

_Why are we fighting them?_ you ask, one day, directed at a nearby companion with needle-like growths sprouting out of the top of their head.

_They are evil,_ they tell you, not even moving to fix their eye upon you. _And they are trying to destroy us._

* * *

You would speak to them once more.

The war rages for an eternity, the enemy’s weapons getting bigger and more destructive but never succeeding in stopping you at the source—because you would keep coming and coming, no matter how many were killed. One day, a sect breaks off from their army and aids your side instead, using their potent magic in ways you could never dream of. And there is way more, more that you do not understand and that you doubt you could ever hope to understand.

You don’t remember the in-betweens. You wander off too many times, get lost for years in forgotten star systems, don’t participate in the fighting nearly as much as you should. Because, paradoxically, even though your purpose is to fight, it still feels wrong, somehow.

But finally, the fighting comes to a standstill. Perhaps everything is done.

It happens so fast—a matter of days, of weeks, and you cannot tell how everything went down, but what you do know is that one day, everything was okay, and then the next, the sect who had helped you is nowhere to be found, and the Dark Matter are scattered across the galaxy. As if someone had reached into the heart of your people and plucked out the thing that made you tick—that allowed you to keep on coming and coming, spawning two new heads each time one was chopped off.

And somehow, in your disarray, as you float through the galaxy without a purpose, you happen upon a form that you recognize. A sphere with a spiky mane of something that you might call hair, if it wasn’t clearly a part of their head.

Today, your question is, _What did they do to us?_

_They sealed away the progenitor of darkness,_ comes the answer. _The one who created us all and who will destroy us all. But someday they will be free from their prison._

You would see them again, centuries later, when the Dark Matter had begun to reform as a whole united under one leader, and when your incessant wandering had led you to Popstar—but by that time you had forgotten who they were.

* * *

It’s early afternoon when you get to the Lor Starcutter. Your thoughts are muddled, but you think you’re finally ready to have a proper conversation with Magolor.

He’s not on the bridge when you enter, but after you knock on the wall a couple times with your tongue, he comes rushing out of a door to your left. He perks up when he notices who it is, clapping his hands together and floating towards you.

“Ah! Gooey! Back again with more questions? Anything this ol’ history nerd can teach ya?”

You figure you’ll cut to the chase. “Do you really think all Dark Matter are bad?”

Magolor blinks, caught off-guard. “Erm—well, that’s sure what it looks like, isn’t it? You’d know that all too well, wouldn’t you, what with Zero and his minions—”

“All of them? Me too??”

He stops, floating hands pausing in the middle of some idle motion, and suddenly his eyes become very wide. “You—what?”

“Me too?” you repeat.

“Well, uh.” Magolor chuckles. “Gooey, you’re not Dark Matter, don’t worry—you’ve got two eyes!”

“No!! That’s not how it works! You know it!”

“I—”

“Miracle Matter too! Many eyes!”

Magolor takes a sharp breath, seeming to sink a little closer to the floor. “Oh my god. Are you really?”

“Yes!!” you shout, and jump into the air. Your telltale orange fins materialize around you, and Magolor inches backwards, eyes like yellow saucers.

“Oh,” he whispers. “Oh. Oh, I see. Oh man.”

You land back on the ground. “Yeah!”

“Well.” He straightens up, and gives you a look that you interpret as a grin. “Of course, I didn’t _mean_ all that stuff I said about Dark Matter—”

“Yes you did!”

“Come on! Obviously I can’t have been generalizing about an entire group of people like that!”

“Yes you were!!”

“Okay.” He sighs. “Okay, maybe I was. But hey, worth a shot!”

“I think,” you say pointedly, “that is a bad thing to do if you like history.”

“What?”

“History studying. More facts and less opinions?”

“It’s a fact though! They did some horrible things!”

“Yeah… but…”

You trail off. Looking at Magolor is reminding you of something—his appearance is not unlike that of some of your enemies, way back when. But he can’t have fought in the war! He barely knows anything about it! Maybe those were his ancestors? Is that why he hates Dark Matter so much?

Seeing your dejected expression, Magolor’s face softens. “I—you know what—you’re right, Gooey. It’s hard for me to admit, but I should’ve been more objective. And more considerate! I’m really sorry. But hey, I’m still learning, you know! Gotta make mistakes so you can do better next time, right?”

“Yeah,” you say, not really listening.

“So, uh, did you have anything else to ask me about?”

“Forgot.”

“Ah.” He taps his fingers together. “Okay.”

The silence between you is somewhat awkward. You almost want to leave—you’ve done what you came for—but something tells you to keep staring at him, keep waiting for him to speak. There’s something he hasn’t said yet. You can feel it.

Suddenly Magolor exhales loudly, shaking his head and looking up at the ceiling. His ears jiggle along with the movement. “Ughhh! No, I haven’t been fair to you at all. Can’t keep my stupid—all that stupid stuff from my mind. I’m sorry. You didn’t deserve that.”

It sounds a lot more candid than his last apology. “It’s okay. Thanks.”

“Yeah, I just—” He presses his palms to his forehead and looks at the floor. “You wanna go outside? I could use some fresh air.”

He moves to the door and gestures you out, following as you scoot down the little path that leads to his starship. Outside, the day is bright as can be; the sky is clear and the grass waves along with the tiny breeze. Magolor blinks, as if he hasn’t been out of his ship in days.

“A little while ago,” he begins, “well, a couple years, at least—I made… a couple of very poor decisions that resulted in me getting possessed by a very ancient and very dangerous artifact called the Master Crown. It was, to put it lightly, not a very fun time. I’ve since come to believe that this artifact was imbued with a kind of dark energy—whether by its creators or by some other source, I can’t tell. Something that gave it a mind of its own. Whatever the case, there is a clear connection between the Master Crown and Dark Matter. Not to mention my appearance when it… took control of me.” He shudders. “Giant mouth-eyeballs are _very_ characteristic of Dark Matter.”

All the smugness has drained from him; now he just looks tired and a little bit hopeless. You extend your tongue and give him a pat on the back, and he smiles.

“That’s scary,” you say, and hope it sounds validating. Wow, you’re doing pretty well at the whole speaking thing today, all things considered. “Yeah. Sometimes Dark Matter is very very bad. Lots of the time!”

“Exactly. But you… you’re a good person, Gooey.” He pats you back, which makes you giggle. “I doubt there’s a malicious bone in your body! Er… hm. _Do_ you have bones?”

“Nope!”

“Well! Looks like I learned something new about Dark Matter today!”

“Yeah!”

You walk in silence for a little while, circling the Lor once, then cutting through the field and looping aimlessly. You’re glad to spend this time with him, you think. The two of you have more in common than you might’ve assumed.

“Gooey,” says Magolor suddenly, “are you friends with King Dedede?”

“Yep!” is your answer, mostly because you live by the philosophy that any friend of Kirby’s is a friend of yours.

“Sounds like he's had some… rough experiences with Dark Matter too.”

“Oh…” You hadn't considered that. “I think he likes me though?”

“That’s good!”

If he didn't like you, you suppose he'd make it clear. You briefly consider finding him and apologizing, but—it's not your job to answer for the crimes of your species, is it? If anything, you accomplished the same thing when you beat the Dark Matter out of him and saved Dreamland. You have nothing to apologize for, at least not to anyone who's still alive.

“Hey,” interjects Magolor again. “You don't suppose you could teach me some more stuff about Dark Matter sometime? Who knows, I might even be able to make a part 2 to that lesson…”

He winks, and you smile widely.

* * *

You run into Kirby on the way back home—or rather, the little cave where you’ve been sleeping sometimes in the past month or so. You don't really have a permanent home, which you honestly don't mind; anywhere works for you. Your friend’s eyebrows are lowered, and he looks a little peeved—or maybe just perplexed.

“I went to go check out the Fountain of Dreams,” he tells you, “and everything looked fine! No Nightmares in the water or anything! Maybe it's just a me problem…”

“Is it a memory?”

“A memory? You mean the dream I had?”

“Sometimes my dreams are memories!”

Kirby shakes his head. “Nope! I’ve never been trapped in any kind of crystal. Crystal caverns, though… that's a different story! If you go far enough into the Great Cave, you begin to feel a bit like you're trapped…”

“Or a timeline? Different timeline?”

He laughs. “No, I have no idea what could've happened that would lead to something like that! I think it was just a dream. But thanks for your help!”

You nod along, but you’re not convinced. There’s something going on here, just too far away to grasp.

* * *

But maybe, if you reach out, and—and—

Timelines rush by your mind’s eye like rippling streams, forking and reconnecting and sometimes looping in nonsensical patterns. An endless array of possibilities. An endless number of decisions to make every single second, some of which will alter the future forever, some of which barely matter in the scheme of things. But the number of possible endings, though large, is finite. The river, despite its branches, flows to the same destination every time. Ultimately, fate has you in its binds. It pulls you down the path to a distant sea of stars.

You’ve been here before, sitting behind Kirby in his Star Allies Sparkler, but it’s different, now. The battle has evolved. You don’t even know how you got there this time—did you fight Hyness? Yes, but there was something wrong with him, the result of a long journey that you yourself may or may not have taken. And there was a lot more after him too, more opponents to conquer before reaching the climax of your journey. How did you get to the Divine Terminus? You can’t recall.

Did Kirby chug a bottle of hot sauce and subsequently pass out? Perhaps. Is it related to your reason for coming here? You have no clue.

(The three sisters work in tandem, a frantic, chaotic battle that leaves you breathless. The reborn butterfly becomes a dark-winged disaster. Who are they? They seem familiar, for some reason, but you guess you’ll never know.)

Void Termina’s skin is a dark, deathly grey, his eyes shining brilliant crimson, the rest of his body turned red and gold. Kirby, in control of the Sparkler, swoops and dives, deftly avoiding shockwaves of energy, gigantic flaming blades, harder attacks than you remember from before. The two of you are so in sync that you’re able to charge joint blasts and fire them at the enemy without even needing verbal confirmation on the timing. Eyes appear all over his body, and you shoot them down one by one.

At his core, his whorled heart spits out dark purple runes, which Kirby inhales and flings right back at him. A larger red rune, constantly shifting and flickering, flies around, but doesn’t do much else, and when you lick it it tastes like sulfur. The arena is a net of crisscrossing sinews, their patterns fascinatingly organic, and you briefly worry that with one misstep you’ll fall through the hexagonal platforms and become one with Void’s innards.

You split open his heart and are thrown out again to once more face his flying, bird-like form. He shoots slews of arrows, wields an enormous rainbow axe, summons four ghastly crowns that blast rays of pure energy, lighting up the sky in a technicolor spectacle that almost blinds you.

Yet Kirby dodges, whirls through the air as if he was born to do this, and finally Void Termina has fallen, an earth-rending cry echoing deep inside him as he crashes to the ground. One last part to go. Just one more, and then all will be revealed.

* * *

You hadn’t realized you were asleep until you feel Kirby’s paw on your back, shaking you. The room is dark, its corners and shadows seeming more like pockets of void than spaces where no light can reach. Another day gone by with little to remember of its ending.

“Gooey,” whispers Kirby, “I had another dream.”

His arm is trembling. You look up at him, ready to listen, remembering his vision of a crystal. Could it have been anything like the dark crystal heart at the altar of the Divine Terminus—?

“Ahh. It’s gone now. I—no. Can’t remember.”

“Aw,” you say. “What was it?”

“I think…” His eyes stare into the distance, blank and unfocused, mouth shrinking into a single dot. “I think it was about Void.”

* * *

Void’s core swirls with color, like ribbons of rainbow ink in a dark sea that quickly fades to a pure white. The holes in his face rearrange themselves, ever shifting to let loose projectiles or simply to blink at you and Kirby as if legitimately curious as to your nature. Sometimes they appear reddish, and the color combination reminds you of another being with a red eye and a round, white body. He fires off a dozen lasers, a couple boomerangs, splits himself into four and bounces around the space, all in the blink of an eye. Ever flickering, ever changing, but always coming back to that one face—Kirby’s face. Is it in imitation? Or is there something more?

And as the battle rages on, fast-paced and terrifying, its tone seems to shift to something you might call contemplative. Void floods the arena with purple liquid, lights it all up a brilliant yellow, blazes so brightly that all you can see of him is a star-shaped form with a red eye in the center. What did the swordsman call him? _The one who created us all and who will destroy us all._ He certainly has enough power to destroy every last being on Popstar, if Kirby would let him. That much is clear from the blasts of energy he sends at you from every angle, sometimes bouncing, sometimes rotating, always quick and hard to dodge. But does he have enough power to _create?_

Why are you fighting him? Does he truly wish to be a Destroyer of Worlds? Or is that the role that he’s been pushed into? He has a Purpose. So did you. But you are not what you were. You are not what they tried to turn you into.

Kirby’s face is, at first, frozen into a determined grimace, but as you go on it gets blanker and blanker, the whites of his eyes losing their particular luster, until he almost matches the expression of his opponent. They stare each other down, but nothing seems to pass between them. They can’t get through to one another.

Are they opponents? Or is there a reason why Kirby is fighting that goes beyond that, perhaps even beyond what Kirby himself knows?

Kirby shoots his final star. Void squeezes his eyes shut.

And then everything happens at once. Void’s face cycles through hundreds of combinations, the colors on the surface of his skin straining like cracks on an egg about to hatch. The background warps, fading quickly from one color to the next, a rainbow cacophony. Explosions sound in every direction.

Everything stops. And Void, suddenly understanding, smiles.

Stars whisk by, erupting from Void as the endless energy inside begins to win him over, reaching a fever pitch. The light pours out of him in thin beams, reaching into every nook and cranny of the area, and he keeps smiling and smiling and smiling as the room becomes too bright to register any distinction between Kirby and the shimmering star in front of him.

Kirby stares upwards, tears pouring from his eyes.

“It’s me, Gooey,” breathes your friend, arm outstretched as if to touch the nothingness before him. “He’s me. I don’t know how, but he’s going to be me. And I freed him. I finally did it… I freed him…”

Void’s face fades into blankness. It’s over.

* * *

“Are you okay?” you ask.

Kirby’s mouth twitches, and he tears his eyes away from the wall to focus back on you, albeit blearily. “Yeah. I think so. I’ll… think about it more in the morning.”

“It’s all very complicated.”

He can’t know exactly what you’re talking about—even you don’t entirely know what you’re talking about—but he nods anyway.

“Thanks, Gooey,” he whispers. “Thanks for sticking by me.”

“Always,” you reply.

You _are_ connected in some strange fashion, after all, through births, deaths, space and matter and stars.

* * *

The sun is bright on this planet, you notice—you can hardly seem to get any shade, even as you scurry through the forest. Popstar is new to you, too unfamiliar, but somehow it doesn’t feel scary. There’s an inviting air to the place.

A plump grey bird flies overhead, and you pause. Light footsteps approach your position, then a figure pushes through the underbrush, calling “Coo! Waaaait!!” He skids to a stop when he sees you, tilting his head to the side as if to get a better look. He’s a wonderful rosy pink color, with big, wide eyes, pudgy limbs, and a spherical shape. A flicker of a memory flashes through your mind—someone else, round and pink, who was kind to you once. You decide that you can trust him.

“Oh!” he cries. “Hi!”

“Hi!” you echo.

“Are you from around here?”

“Nope!”

“Oooh, a visitor!” The little puffball bounces up and down, his troubles with his bird friend clearly forgotten. “Wow! Want me to show you around?”

“Okay!”

“Yay!” He scampers off a couple feet in front of you, then waits for you to catch up. “Hey… do you have a name?”

You shake your head.

“Hm.” He scans your body, focusing particularly on the way you’re scooting along as you follow him. “What about Gooey? You’re like a little blob of goo!”

You giggle. Gooey, then? Yeah. That sounds right.


End file.
